


Show And Tell

by Not_You



Series: Not_You's Pandemic Follies [1]
Category: Happy! (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Blind Date, Body Modification, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Nullo, my problematic otp, that's the best tag i can think of, they're both fucked up but not as fucked up as canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:28:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23405287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: Pointless porn for a trying time, minor spoiler for season one.
Relationships: Smoothie/Nick Sax
Series: Not_You's Pandemic Follies [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683655
Comments: 28
Kudos: 36





	Show And Tell

“Gotta admit,” Nick says, sprawling over the leather sofa and wondering if his host has any booze in this sleek, minimalist apartment, “I’m having more fun with my first gay date than I figured I would.”

Smoothie shrugs. “You’re the one who put, I quote, ‘whatever’s clever’ in the ‘desired sex/gender combination’ blank.”

“I’m still wondering why they put you with me. Daddy issues?” He’s not sure what the hell he’ll do if Smoothie says yes, given his own issues with all things fatherhood.

“Maybe,” Smoothie says, with his weird, enigmatic little smile. He’s somewhere between creepy as hell and kinda cute. Nick isn’t even drunk yet, but he might sleep with this weirdo anyway. First gay date in no way means that a guy hasn’t sucked a dick or several. “May I offer you a drink?”

“How dare you threaten me with a good time. Whiskey if you’ve got it, but I’ll take anything down to mouthwash.” Nick is not a complete savage, and has removed his shoes at his host’s request, so there’s nothing to stop him from pulling his feet up onto the couch and really getting comfortable. He stretches, a few of his joints making popping noises, but none of them are painful. His coat is already hanging up by the door, so he can fold his arms behind his head in comfort.

Smoothie smiles when he comes back from the gleaming, open plan kitchen with an honest-to-god silver tray. There’s a glass of ice and a bottle of whiskey on the tray along with some kind of pink cocktail, and Smoothie sets everything up on the glass coffee table.

“You seem to have made yourself at home,” Smoothie says, and Nick shrugs.

“Seemed like the thing to do.” Smoothie just smiles again, and pours for Nick before picking up his own drink and sitting in the armchair near the couch. “Y’know,” Nick says, “I woulda moved my feet. It’s your house.”

“I know,” Smoothie says, sounding fond. “I can admire you better from here.”

“What is your deal, anyway?”

“Wasn’t I clear enough on the form?”

“I guess I mean spill,” Nick says. “You can quote me, I can quote you: ‘gender and sex irrelevant, open to extreme body modifications a must.’ What did you do?”

“I suppose this can be a first date conversation if you want,” Smoothie says, pausing to take a sip of his drink. “My nickname. What does it make you think of?”

“Uh, blended drinks that are supposed to be healthy and actually have enough sugar to down a yak?”

Smoothie nods, and then stands up, setting his glass down. “There is another meaning to the word,” he says, unbuttoning his fly, and Nick sits up, curiosity piqued.

“And to think, we ain’t even kissed on the mouth yet,” Nick mutters, and Smoothie pauses, looking at him with one eyebrow raised.

“We can fix that, if you want.”

“Maybe I do.”

“Didn’t take you for the romantic type,” Smoothie says, and he’s actually blushing a little, when he’s been imperturbable all evening. That’s definitely cute, and Nick sits up as Smoothie approaches the couch. He really is small, and neatly fits himself between Nick’s knees, cupping his face in both hands. 

He kisses Nick in a soft and resolute kind of way, not too slobbery but like he’s trying to memorize this for later. Nick lets him lead, just making a happy little rumbling noise in his throat because this is nice. Makes him wish he had remembered to shave, but Smoothie doesn’t seem to mind, nuzzling into Nick’s graying stubble.

“There,” Smoothie murmurs without pulling away, “better?”

“Mmm. Yeah. Definitely,” Nick says, and then gently pushes Smoothie back. “Now show me what you got.”

“If you insist,” Smoothie murmurs, and gets back to opening his fly. That done, he pulls down the black boxer-briefs underneath, and shows Nick why people call him Smoothie.

“Wait, seriously?” Nick asks, after a moment of stunned contemplation. Talk about extreme body mods, Smoothie is completely smooth. He’s not just a eunuch or just dickless, he’s _both_ , as smooth and inevitable as a Ken doll. It’s very good work, the scarring almost nonexistent. There’s something weirdly compelling about how fucking smooth the skin really is, how white and defenseless. Makes sense there’s no hair, why bother to get this done if there’s gonna be hair in the way? To say nothing of how it probably grows in the shape of one of those fucked up monk haircuts.

“Seriously.”

“Maybe a bit forward, but can I touch it?”

Smoothie chuckles. “Sure, Nick. You can touch it.”

“You seem like a guy that gets horny,” Nick says, just cupping that blankness in one palm. It’s blood-warm against his skin, and incredibly soft. “I’m not sure how that works.”

“Trust me,” Smoothie breathes, “it works.”

He grinds on Nick’s hand a little, and Nick chuckles, giving him a friendly squeeze. “Sure seems like it.” Smoothie’s only response is a soft moan, and if he’s going to be like that about it, Nick has no choice but to push everything down far enough for Smoothie to step out of it and climb into his lap. He’s easy to gather up, and the little squeak he lets out is nothing short of precious.

‘You’re like some kind of fucked up David Lynch character, but cute,” Nick tells him, and Smoothie laughs, slicked back hair falling out of place. No one in their right mind would ever call him pretty, but his eyes are, large and bright. They’re almost gold at the edges, shading to bright brown in the center. Smoothie’s pupils are huge now, and he leans into Nick’s hands. The one that isn’t palming his not-dick is gripping the back of his neck to help him keep his balance, and he whines quietly, turning his head and leaning to the side in a way Nick doesn’t get at first. It finally dawns on him that Smoothie is trying to get Nick’s hand around his throat, and he chuckles, shifting his grip to oblige him. 

“You’re one kinky little bastard, Smoothie. And don’t think I didn’t see the bit about watersports.” Smoothie whines, and whatever he has left is definitely erect, there’s some kind of amorphous firmness and heat happening under Nick’s hand. It’s all very anonymous, completely hidden under smooth skin.

“Is this the root of your dick?” Nick asks, and Smoothie laughs.

“It’s the p-part that gets turned into a c-clitoris in g-gender reassignment s-s-surgery.” His hips are bucking faster now, and there’s a feverish light in his eyes that makes Nick think that he must have really been out of control back when he still had everything.

“Whatever’s clever,” Nick mutters, and works himself out of his pants because he is rock hard now. This is nowhere near weird enough to put off Nick Sax, and he gives Smoothie’s throat a little squeeze that makes him moan.

“Your perfect fucking hands...” Smoothie murmurs, and Nick chuckles.

“This okay?” Nick asks, wedging his cock between Smoothie’s thighs.

Smoothie’s only answer is to moan and squeeze them together, so he’s presumably good. It’s a little dry for about three seconds, and then Nick’s precome is everywhere and he’s rutting along that smoothness, just barely able to feel the surgical seam where it all comes together. Smoothie’s pulse is fast in his hand and against his cock, and Nick lets out a pleased growl, grinding a little harder and kissing Smoothie’s mouth where it’s hanging open all helpless and pink.

“N-nick...” Smoothie whimpers, bracing his hands on Nick’s chest for just a moment before unerringly finding both nipples through Nick’s shirt and pinching them in a hard, cruel grip that makes Nick groan.

“Aw, fuck that’s vicious,” he hisses, and Smoothie lets out a breathless laugh. 

It doesn’t take either of them much longer. Nick just has time to wonder how he’s gonna know when Smoothie comes, and then Smoothie is bucking and groaning, pressing his throat so hard against Nick’s hand that the sound comes out half-strangled, his hips shaking and grinding in a familiar, uncontrollable way. The tiny hole he must piss out of releases a flood of clear slick, and something about that and the whole mindfuck of this evening and the way Smoothie is gazing into Nick’s eyes while he does his best to choke himself out is enough to make Nick come. He curses and clutches at Smoothie, careful grip forgotten in favor of just wrapping his arms around Smoothie and holding him in place until Nick grinds and growls to a halt. Smoothie sighs, and shifts to sit sideways in Nick’s lap.

“Next time we should get our shirts off,” he says, and Nick chuckles.

“Yeah, probably. You gonna be pissed about the couch?”

“It’s treated,” Smoothie mumbles, pillowing his head on Nick’s shoulder. “It can stand up to actual piss.”

Of course it can. Nick just snorts and kisses the top of Smoothie’s head, and that seems to be enough of an answer for now.


End file.
